


Find My Horizon

by girlunafraid23



Series: Our Theme Song [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Protective Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:52:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlunafraid23/pseuds/girlunafraid23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ever since Ian returned from war after being injured, he had nightmares. They had slowly stopped occuring so often after the first few months, but they were still there and Mickey fucking hated them. He never felt so helpless than when he'd feel Ian moving around in his sleep, trying to fight against his own mind."</p><p>The first of the series of one-shots dedicated to Mickey & Ian's future together, all inspired by songs.<br/>Ian's post-traumatic stress disorder gives him nightmares and Mickey tries to help as best he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find My Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Swim by Jack's Mannequin
> 
> "You gotta swim and swim when it hurts. The whole world is watching, you haven't come this far to fall off the earth. The currents will pull you away from your love, just keep your head above."

It was three in the morning when Mickey woke up to Ian kicking him in his sleep. He groaned when Ian's knee smashed into his groin and Mickey couldn't help but smack Ian's chest to try and get him to wake up. But Ian continued thrashing, despite Mickey's attempts at hitting him awake. He was having nightmares again. 

Ever since Ian returned from war after being injured, he had nightmares. They had slowly stopped occuring so often after the first few months, but they were still there and Mickey fucking hated them. He never felt so helpless than when he'd feel Ian moving around in his sleep, trying to fight against his own mind.

"Gallagher," Mickey said, his voice thick with sleep. "Wake up, damnit," He said, punching his shoulder, trying to get him up. When he finally leaned over him, clutching his shoulders tightly and started to shake him, Ian shot awake, his eyes opening quickly and searching the room frantically before realizing where he was.

Mickey studied him, waiting for him to say something, but there was only silence as Ian leaned back down against the bed. His breathing was slowing but he continued to sweat despite the cool air in their apartment. Ian's face was red and Mickey couldn't help but wonder if it was from embarrassment. 

"You were having a nightmare again," Mickey finally said, but wanting to fucking kick himself for how stupid that was. Obviously Ian was having a nightmares and Ian obviously knew that. But Ian didn't say anything about how stupid Mickey's comment was; he just nodded slightly, avoiding eye contact and muttering out, 'sorry'.

Nothing made Mickey more angry than when Ian fucking Gallagher apologized for having a stupid god damn nightmare. Mickey knew he had seen more than the average person could handle, but he also knew that even he probably wouldn't have been able to deal with war. Seeing people shot during drug busts and the assholes in juvie was nothing in comparison and he wasn't stupid enough to think otherwise. Some of the stories Ian told him made him shudder, promising him his own nightmares, all starring the fucking redhead he was leaning over. 

Ian eyes were watching the ceiling closely, waiting for Mickey to say something about waking him up, but Mickey just put his chin on Ian's chest and stared up at him through his lashes. "You don't have to be sorry, ya know," Mickey mumbled out after a while, making Ian look down to meet his eyes.

"I keep waking you up. You have work tomorrow and so do I. We both need to sleep and I keep fucking that up," Ian's voice was full of annoyance, but mostly towards himself. Mickey could tell he felt guilty about waking Mickey up so much. Mickey's forefinger traced the younger boy's collar bone while he listened to his heart beat from underneath him.

Back in Chicago, Mickey was never intimate or patient or willing to be soft for even a moment really. Mickey knew it made Ian's pulse race at the fact that here they were in New York and even though he still wasn't charming and was still unable to really tell Ian how much he cared for it, he was finally able to show Ian, not by just quick fucks. He wasn't paranoid here as he was in Chicago and although sometimes he felt the anger and shame that Terry Milkovich had punched into him, he knew Ian was worth more.

Finally Mickey grunted and pulled himself off of Ian, swinging out of bed. Mickey could feel Ian watching him with intense eyes until Mickey held his hand out for him, "You coming or what? Don't just fucking stare at me."

"Coming where exactly? It's three in the morning," Ian asked, his voice filled with confusion. But, of course, he still took Mickey's hand without waiting for an explanation and let him pull him out of bed. 

It took a minute to get up, like every time Ian had to get out of bed, because when he was injured he recieved a bullet to the knee. Mickey pretended he wasn't being cautious with him, because he knew Ian hated being treated like he was fragile. But sometimes he just couldn't help it. One day Mickey had gone from wanting nothing more than to see Ian Gallagher dead, to not allowing himself to think of fucking living without him. He didn't care how faggy or gay that way, because he knew it was the truth. He spent too many months worrying he'd never see him again.

Mickey's thoughts were cut off by Ian rambling, "But seriously, where the fuck are we going? It's three in the morning and we have work tomorrow. We're definitely not getting drunk, Mick. I can't go to work with a hangover and you definitely can't." Mickey smirked at the nervous edge to Ian's words.

When they got to the kitchen, he pointed at one of the bar stools nearby for Ian to sit on and then he started pulling out coffee mugs and a tea kettle. Ian watched him closely, the two of them swimming in silence, while Mickey watched him from the corner of his eye in return. Ian didn't seem to notice what he was putting together, too focused on scanning every inch of his body. That used to make Mickey fidget and feel too uncomfortable to the point where'd he have to punch Ian just feel in control again, but things were different now.

Mickey could tell Ian was lost in thought, probably trying to memorize this moment when they were quiet, but how it didn't feel like they were drowning anymore, the way they always felt in Chicago. Mickey was trying to do exactly the same thing. 

Ian's face scrunched up slightly, his forehead creasing. He got that look whenever he thought too much and it turned into more than he wanted to deal with. It was usually the look he got when he thought about the war. "You've got that look on," Mickey told him as he put a mug down in front of him. 

Ian shook his head at him, trying to clear his mind before looking down and seeing hot chocolate. Ian smiled at the gesture; he had told Mickey last winter that hot chocolate made everything better. Mickey sometimes pretended he wasn't listening but he had every word that Ian ever said to him branded into his brain and he fucking hated that but loved it too. Ian was always good at being really confusing.

"You gonna fucking drink it or you wanna flirt with it first? Christ Gallagher, it's not gonna be fucking hot forever," Mickey said to him as he took a sip out of his mug. Ian grinned his shit-eating grin at him before taking a sip, his eyelashes fluttering against the mug as he took a deep breath. He smiled, eyes closed, his lips wrapped around the mug and if it wasn't so late and he hadn't been so deprieved of sleep, Mickey would have easily gotten hard from just the sight.

"Thanks Mick," Ian said after a few sips. Mickey nodded at him, his eyes tired but a small smile playing at his lips. He always used to wonder if Ian would come back looking different, and although he had in certain ways, it was moments like these he'd get to see that doe-eyed look, with his eyes feigning innocence he used to always wear.

"What time do you have to go to work tomorrow," He finally asked Ian, quietly, watching how each sip seemed to relax Ian more. Mickey made a mental note to do this every time he had a nightmare. 

Ian hummed, his head rolling back for a moment as he thought, "Uh, tomorrow I have the earlier shift, eleven to five. What about you, where are you working tomorrow?"  
After Ian returned from war, he got a job working as a bar tender while Mickey worked construction all over New York. No matter what times they worked, they managed to see each other every day, even if they couldn't be in the same bed. And they still fucked like sixteen year olds too.

"I've got to be in Manhattan by nine, it will probably be a long, shitty day. The pussies who worked in the area before really fucked up the place, so we have to take it all down. I fucking hate that," Mickey moaned, before gulping down the rest of his hot chocolate.

Ian clicked his tongue in sympathy, sipping his drink again. His mug was almost empty now and Mickey watched him carefully, memorizing every freckle and curve and dimple. "You're staring at me," Ian told him, without even looking up.

"And," Mickey barked back at him. "You're sitting right fucking there. What am I supposed to be looking at?" Mickey wished his voice was a little tougher, but he just sounded tired and a bit breathless.

Ian smiled into the mug, trying hard to hide it from Mickey, but Mickey saw him anyways. When Ian finally looked up at him, Mickey couldn't even try to bite back the smile that was forming on his lips. Suddenly the two boys were laughing together over nothing, the tension from the nightmare disappearing from the air. 

When Mickey went to put the mugs in the sink to wash later in the morning, he felt Ian wrap his arms around him from behind. His breath was tickling his neck and Mickey pressed back into him out of instinct. "Thank you Mickey, really," Ian said, his voice so genuine it made Mickey hurt.

But he only hummed in response before turning around to face him. Ian loosely placed his arms against Mickey's shoulders while he pressed his thumbs against Ian's hipbones. "You want to go back to sleep now," Mickey asked, his lips hovering over the redhead's neck. Ian nodded but neither of them moved until Mickey pressed his lips against his jugular, making Ian's breath hitch. Mickey grinned against him, pulling his hand towards their room.

They walked back into the bedroom together, both of them collapsing against the mattress in a pile of limbs. Their bodies were pressed together as they found themselves wrapping tightly into the other like every night before. Mickey wondered how long it would take for Ian to fall asleep again and if any more nightmares would come tonight. 

His hand was brushing across Ian's thigh when he heard him say, "Sometimes it feels like I'm sinking. All I can hear are the bullets and people screaming and explosions and I'm being pulled away from everything and I can't help but drown. It scares me more than anything. I keep thinking that one day I'll never come out of it and you'll leave and then I'll have nothing at all."

Mickey's heart dropped as Ian confessed what he had been thinking and he couldn't help but wonder how long he's been thinking this. He pulled himself into Ian even more, his cheek brushing against Ian's hair while Ian nuzzled closer into his neck. "I'll help you keep your head above water, because I'm never fucking leaving, Gallagher. You better believe that, because I don't know where I'd fucking be without you. You're not leaving and neither am I, so don't say that. Don't ever fucking say that."

Milkovich's didn't cry, but Mickey knew Ian could hear his voice crack and how desperate he sounded but it was the truth. Ian would find the horizon and Mickey would be right there with him. Mickey would be just as lost without Ian as Ian thinks he would be without Mickey. "Love you Mick," Ian breathed against his neck.

And then he let himself breathe again, reassuring himself that Ian would be here when he woke up in the morning, "Love you too, kid." Mickey knew they would be okay in the end. Mickey would make sure they were, because if it's one thing he knew how to do, it was fight. And he would always fucking fight for Ian Gallagher.


End file.
